


An Inconvenient Place

by LadyGrimReaper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Childbirth, Kink Meme, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGrimReaper/pseuds/LadyGrimReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for a Sherlock ( BBC) prompt: John goes into labour while wearing Sherlock's Belstaff coat. Be forewarned, highly detailed scene of childbirth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inconvenient Place

[Original Prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/20063.html?thread=122799711#t122799711)

For the Sherlock BBC Kink Meme

~An Inconvenient Place~

↓

  
John awakened gasping in discomfort, a hand pressing into the curve of his abdomen. A few moments later, the false contractions stopped and he sank back into the bed in relief. He was no obstetrician but he knew Braxton Hick contractions were a bitch, especially this late in his pregnancy. Thankfully Sherlock was already awake and gently playing his violin (thank god for small mercies).   
  
Thank god for large mercies too. John had been able to follow Sherlock on all the tame cases with minimal running and rooftop jumping while Lestrade had been giving them access to documented crime scene photos. Sherlock wasn't bored and John was happily following his husband and getting them out of minimally not good situations with only the use of his captain voice and a flash or two of his illegal firearm. When he began to show, they just made their frequent trips to NSY and let the incompetent yarders do the legwork instead.   
  
The false contractions just started a week or two ago. John wasn't worried yet, he was thirty-nine weeks and a few days along and had no problems getting around the flat and staying active. It was the easiest pregnancy he could have asked for.   
  
The bed dipped and a head full of curls appeared in his view, along with ice-blue eyes.   
"We need to stop by Lestrade's office. I need a new file of cold cases."   
  
Instead of helping John up, Sherlock leaned forward to plant a small kiss on his lips.   
  
"Mmmmm Sherlock! I actually have to get up if we need to go to the yard."   
  
"Perhaps I want to keep you in my bed," the deep voice rumbled in his ear, but he grudgingly let John out of the bed. He couldn't, however, help but rub both hands over the belly and attack his husband's neck with kisses and little bites.   
  
"Sherlock!" John squealed at all his attention, which happened enough that he really should be used to it.   
  
"John!"   
  
The shorter man giggled while leaning into his touch. There was a hitch in his breath, and Sherlock glanced down with a concerned look in his eye.   
  
"Braxton Hick contractions, love."   
  
A small smile crossed John's lips as his husband knelt to kiss his belly, and talk to it.  
  
A wave of affection and warmth flooded the room and he ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, the light glinting off of the slim ring on his fourth finger. He slowly pulled away, tugging off his night shirt and rummaging through the drawers for a button-up maternity shirt and jumper, finding a black jumper that Sherlock had bought him and a dark blue shirt.   
  
After slipping into his trousers, Sherlock helped him into one of his great Belstaff coats.   
  
Yes. Sherlock had more than one of those coats. John had teased him mercilessly when he found out.  
  
A quick trip to the bathroom and a small breakfast later, the two were off to see Lestrade.   
During the cab ride, a few more contractions hit causing John to grimace slightly. A tendril of doubt formed, but no, he couldn't have gone into labour. Sometimes the false contractions hit several times a day. But then again these were a bit more uncomfortable than usual.   
  
They were at the yard before he knew it and Sherlock gave him a hand out of the cab after paying. Flipping the lapels of the coat up, John allowed it to settle at his ankles and around his swollen stomach.   
  
Sherlock cornered his doctor against the elevator wall as they stepped inside, leaning so that he could mutter into his ear. "Seeing you wearing my Belstaff and heavy with my child makes me want to do scandalous things to you, Dr. Holmes."   
  
Their lips met in a slow languorous kiss, Sherlock's palms caressing his husband's belly. John broke off with a small hum. "We are in public, darling."  
  
Sherlock snorted, calmly turning to the open doors. "We shan't be long. Then we can get out of your public and back home."   
  
And so John was left to his own devices.   
  
Before long, the urge to urinate hit and he levered himself up from the chair he was lounging on and headed to the restroom. It wasn't until he was at the sink and a contraction that almost knocked him off his feet that cold reality dawned.   
  
"Oh... god. Shit..."   
  
He gasped, holding his hand to his tightening stomach and leaning over the counter. A second contraction and a sudden wetness in his pants cause him to whimper and squeeze his eyes shut.  
  
The labour pains hit him with a vengeance after that. He staggered out and back over to a chair, collapsing onto it. He panted for breath, leaning his head against the wall. His hand shook as he pulled out his mobile, and then another contraction hit—fuck, they were coming close together—and he forgot about the phone to cradle his abdomen and release a strangled sound.  
  
The door slammed open and out of all officers on duty Anderson was the one that found him . Anderson was a sweetheart but it took a few seconds of the sight of Sherlock's pet husband curled in on himself gripping his stomach beneath one of freak's coats and with a slight sheen of sweat all over his face to snap into panic fueled action.   
  
He rushed over and knelt. "Holy fuck, only Holmes' spawn would want to be born at New Scotland Yard. Watson, how long between them?" He swooped the five-foot-seven doctor into his arms with little difficulty and slammed out the door in haste. " **Someone radio in an ambulance, we've got a man in labour here!** " The office spurned and roared with activity while he carried John to the only office that had a remotely comfortable sofa.  
  
"Oh god, stop for a minute." John's eyebrows furrowed sharply, a long loud whimper falling from his lips as he took an arm from around Anderson's neck and pressed a hand to his belly again. A full ninety seconds later John replaced his arms, gasping for breath. "Closer together, more intense, and longer."   
  
Anderson entered Lestrade's office by kicking in the door and striding across the threshold, surprising Greg and Sherlock into action. He lowered John on the sofa carefully, while Sherlock ran to his husband's side.   
  
"John! How long and how far apart?"   
  
Instead of answering, John unzipped and wiggled out of trousers and pants. There was no time for modesty. He gave a sharp whimper, clutching the arm of the sofa in a death grip as he spread his legs.   
  
"Oh god we're going to have to deliver your kid? Here?! " Anderson squealed in horror, seconds from passing out.   
  
"Shut up and climb behind me! Sherlock, listen to me! You're going to have to catch the baby. You're the one that's seen everything down there befo- " He was cut off by a contraction that made him silent for several seconds and extremely red in the face." Lestrade was on the sofa in a flash, grasping at John's hand and murmuring near his ear to breathe.  
  
With Anderson propping him up from behind, John spread his legs wide and laid his head on the man's shoulder, panting.   
  
"Ten centimetres, Sherlock, or when you see my perineum bulg-" He cut off with a deep growl, grimacing and clutching tight at Lestrade's hand and the arm of the sofa.   
  
He felts a hand fondling his cock and testicles and he gasped. "Tape it to my stomach."   
  
Sherlock, having stolen some latex gloves, followed the instructions and was now staring wide-eyed at his husband's gaping arse. He couldn't  _think_ , information about childbirth had flooded his brain while he was researching, but now with John in labour and he having to actually deliver the baby, his hard-drive was crashing, errors flashing and computer malfunctioning.   
  
Anderson fainted, Lestrade was yelling for the bloody ambulance and John was gasping in pain and he couldn't  _bloody think_  and—  
  
"Sherlock!  _Sherlock_! Listen to me. The baby is coming out. I can feel the head. Hey hey, listen to me. Focus. You need to—" John sucked in a breath and breathed through it while Sherlock watched his perineum bulge just a little, shell-shocked. "—listen! You need to stop me from pushing once the head is out. Make sure the umbilical chord is not wrapped around the baby's neck." Hefting his legs up to his chest, John felt the intense urge to push. "Oh god Sherlock it's coming. I need to push."  
  
John took a deep breath and bore down with all his strength. Lestrade's steady voice was counting to ten , holding onto a leg and brushing back sweat soaked hair. A few more counts to ten and John let out a strangled yell. His voice cracked. “  _ **Oh god it burns, it burns, it burns.**_ ”  
  
Down below Sherlock was pressing two fingers in John's dilated hole and creating a counter pressure by pushing against the stretch of skin directly below. "I can see the head," he murmured.  
  
"Yeah and I can feel it. Oh bloody fuck—" Another yell escaped his lips as he felt the head begin to breach his entrance and he pushed, straining, reddening, and screaming without sound or breath.  
  
Sherlock was breathing hard, gently pulling on the head and widening the birthing canal with his other fingers. "I can see hair, dark hair. Just our luck it would look a lot like Sherlock and born in my bloody office," Lestrade mumbled.   
  
John sobbed, tearless and mouth gaping as the head fully emerged with a spurt of dark bloody fluid.   
  
"John! Stop pushing, stop, stop, stop." Sherlock yelled, frantically feeling around the neck of his baby and ascertaining that the umbilical chord was nowhere dangerous. "You're doing so good, John. Doing amazing."  
  
"It hurts, Sherlock I need to ...I need to push!" John whimpered, rolling his head back. The muscles in his neck were standing out, and the poor man was panting with little whines.   
  
"Ssh, it's okay. Give me a few seconds, John. You're doing so well, love." Sherlock caressed the strong thigh of his partner. "Okay, everything is as it should be."  
  
John immediately curled up a little, squeezing Lestrade's hand in gratitude when the man resumes steady ten counts. He panted, sweat turning his hair into a blonde mess, exertion turning his face red and gave a startling cry of pain. A jolt of fear rocked him to the core. 'Are the shoulders stuck?'   
  
Lestrade was whispering in his ear. "One more time, John." And he's wailing when the shoulders pop out along with the rest of the body.   
  
The baby—and it was a girl, a beautiful girl—was immediately laid on his chest, a shock blanket firmly rubbed on her skin. He was tired, and out of it, but he managed to murmur. "Clean her nose and mouth."   
  
There was a suction bulb applied from out of nowhere. The room filled with small but healthy cries and there was an audible sigh of relief from all of the officers of Scotland Yard, and the paramedics that had just arrived.  
  
An oxygen mask was strapped to his face and Sherlock carefully transported him and their daughter onto the rolling bed. He was focused entirely on Sherlock who was smiling, actually smiling with watery eyes at him, and he just realised he was almost crying too. And then there was applause from the officers, and cheers and John was too exhausted to be confused and worried that his colleagues just witnessed the birth of his child. A blanket was placed over his legs and the umbilical chord cut, and the baby girl was breathing and silent and just beautiful.   
  
"John..." Sherlock didn't have to say a word, placing a hand, gloveless and smelling faintly of sanitiser, in John's hair, and leaning over to press his lips against his forehead.   
  
As a tear leaked down the side of the oxygen mask, a tear also fell from steel grey eyes.


End file.
